Fire Meet Gasoline
by TheCatalystx
Summary: My brand of crazy is IED. That's short for Intermittent Explosive Disorder. Yes, IED is also short for Improvised Explosive Device. Yes, that's a funny coincidence. I never used to see the humor in my anger. It's always controlled me, and I'm told it's pretty scary when I... explode. Everyone always runs the other direction. Until finally, I met him, and he didn't run. He laughed.
1. Chapter 1

"Everyone thinks they're the hero of their own story. Me? I've always known I'm the villain."

– Handsome Jack.

 ** _Preface_**

You, oh you.

 ** _Where_** did you come from? One day you came along and I was turned upside down and shaken and parts of me fell out that I don't think I'll ever get back again.

 ** _Did_** you ever love anything before you became a beast?

 ** _You_** broke me and made me what you wanted, pushed and pushed until I snapped and then you threw me down; stomped and jumped up and down to make sure I was really good and shattered. You made me into something broken. Broken and alone and nobody's, not even yours, because that's how you like me until you

 ** _Go_** **.** People always try to figure out where the hell you came from. Who are you? What happened to you? A man with no past, with no identity except the painted face and the wicked laugh. How can one man be so many things and yet no one at all?

* * *

 ** _Fate_**. Destiny. Do you believe that everything

 ** _happens_** for a reason? That your life has a predetermined script that was written even before you were born? That someone out there, greater than you—greater than all of us—has a plan for you? Maybe. Or maybe it's all just a series of choices.

There are the easy choices, the ones that you don't even have to think about **_as_** you make them… and then there are the hard ones. The ones that **_you're_** going to remember the most. The ones that will keep you awake at night, and the ones that will be at the front of your mind even as you take your last **_dying_** breath. The hard ones are not always the bad ones, either. There is such a thing as a hard good choice, because the right thing to do doesn't match up with what your heart is urging you to do…

I guess it all comes down to perspective, doesn't it? Once, I heard someone say that morals are what separate men from beast. But I don't know about that. I think everything has a story.

And miracles? Miracles don't happen. That much I'm certain of.

* * *

 ** _It's_** not like I planned to be **_crazy_** , you know? I don't even think of

myself that way. **_When_** I was little I dreamed about being a cop. Can you believe that?

A freaking cop. **_I_** guess things went the other way for me. But I've got a family back home that loves me and a dependable job

waiting for me and I **_guess_** that's more than most people can say. I'm not a waitress, if that's **_what_** **_you're thinking._** Not a maid, either. Right now I guess

you could say I'm a career couch potato. At the moment I'm between gigs, you see. I've been institutionalized. But every day between one in the afternoon

and six in the evening I'm here, on this couch, watching the commercials. **_Don't_** much care for the programs anymore. Can't have my HBO, it's not even worth it.

But the commercials… those tell me what I need to know. They keep me up to date with what's going on outside these walls, and that's important, **_you_** know?

It can be easy to get caught up in all the drama that happens in this place, and believe me, there's a LOT. But the commercials advertise what

people want. They are the newest and most exciting things that

the civilized world has to offer.

And as long as I know that,

it's like I'm still human.

Except that I'm not.

I've been to see three different

doctors, and I've got more diagnoses than

I care to admit.

But they all seem to

 _ **agree**_ on one thing.

I'm a ticking time bomb.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_

 _I started this for fun. I have more written, but I don't know if anyone is going to be interested since the formatting is a little wonky. Speaking of which, you can probably see my formatting best on a desktop browser on your actual computer instead of mobile. Full screen. The last section above is supposed to be the shape of an explosion. Haha, get it? And the words that are both bold & italicized make up other little thoughts for each separate section, sort of like Ellen Hopkins books and formatting if you've ever read anything of hers. I thought that sort of writing would be PERFECT for a Joker story, no? It's sort of a stream of consciousness almost. _

_Let me know if you want more_!


	2. Chapter 2

So you want to know all about me. Who I am.

All you have to do to see how much **_pain_**

I've caused is look at my right

hand. It's been broken a thousand

times. When I shake hands with

someone for the first time I shake

with one behind my back. Can you

guess which one?

People notice but no one really **_recognizes_**

that they've just met the devil

and shook her hand. What's that

saying? Keep your enemies close,

but not close enough to stab you

in the back? I think people are just

paranoid. I don't want to stab them.

I want to feel it when I hit them. And I have.

Punch faces, throats, walls, anything until the **_pain_**

fades away. Until it's just the monster

set free.

* * *

Oh, I remember how you looked to me before I knew you.

First of all, you're skinny. You're tall but **_not_**

not big. You don't have soft brown hair

that I could run my fingers through.

You're mean. You're loud and you laugh

way too much. You're scary smart.

Hell, you're just plain scary.

Huge scars, greasy green hair, white wicked face. **_My_**

eyes meet yours and it's like that quote about the

abyss. Black and hopeless and invading they

come in unwelcome and wild, they knock me

down

Fight with the monster—

be careful lest she become a monster. If you gaze

long into the abyss, the abyss will also gaze into you.

And then it all went wrong—terror seized me with a **_type_**

of fear I had never known before and never known

since. All because you stared at me and you smiled.

How could you? How could you see what I am and smile?

* * *

 ** _But_** hey! You gave me something else to think about. And just in time!

Things were starting to get boring around here. Here's something that I think

you'd be surprised to know: I've met someone with a Glasgow smile before. Someone

before you, I mean. And here's the thing… his scars? They looked like dimples. Like long, deep

set dimples, or something. Or just an unusual facial feature. Upside-down jowls, even. Not yours.

Yours are… grotesque. And I don't know what would be more disturbing…

if someone did it to you… or if **_you_** did it to yourself. Because I have the sneakiest feeling

that whatever happened, it happened multiple times. I'm saying I think those pretty little cheeks of yours

were sliced a few times.I think it happened before you'd even healed the first time.

And then again. And maybe one more time for good measure. And even

after all of that, I think you **_picked_** at them. I think you picked and picked and picked until

pieces came out because either you didn't want them there or you like them best when they're red.

I guess that would explain the greasepaint, wouldn't it?

Got tired of opening up old wounds, did ya?

Tell **_me_** … am I getting warmer?

Or do I have it all wrong?

* * *

Author's Note: Future reference...

 _Italicized words indicate dialogue spoken by someone other than the OC, most often the Joker himself._

"Quoted dialogue comes directly from the OC."

 ** _Words or phrases like this, bold AND italicized, make up a separate thought for each section._**

If this is confusing, these will ALL be used in the next chapter and maybe seeing them in action will help to clarify! Thank you for the feedback; I'm glad you're enjoying it so far!


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't have friends before you. Well, maybe

I still don't.

 ** _I don't know if I want to be your friend._**

Because I like to be alone.

Alone, where it's quiet. Where I can be by

myself, away.

Away from the questions and the people.

Away from everyone; just… By myself.

 ** _Alone is exactly the place I need to be._**

No one in the whole place knows me or why I'm here.

They just know that I have triggers.

Luckily, here that isn't so unusual. One guy circles the pole

in the rec room all day, every day. Just walks

in circles and goes around and around and around and around and around

He never stops. Not until they drag him back.

And then he does it all again the next day.

If I had to guess I would say OCD

 ** _but what do I know?_**

I've attacked a couple nosy inmates,

thrown countless chairs at walls and stuck a

pencil into an orderly's leg once. They know that.

I've grabbed an orderly by the back of the head and

bashed his face into the vending machine because

it wouldn't work and

 ** _he wasn't listening to me_**.

Broke

the glass and his face. I was put in isolation for

two months following that one.

Two months was rough,

but I came out exactly the same on the

other side, no worse for wear.

But he'll never have his baby face again.

Now it's all

mottled with scar tissue,

red angry lines twisted

across his face like a road map.

 ** _And I think he hates me._**

Welcome to the club, bub.

* * *

 _Oh, it's you._

Your first words to me. Like you knew me.

You came into the shadows,

into the deep dark corner where I sat

alone. Separated from the others. Until you.

What do I say to that? I just stared at you,

and you looked all around.

At me, at my glare

and at my jigsaw puzzle

littered across my card table, my Rubik's

cube in my hand, at the orderly

who stood close by and the

clock that hung on the wall

behind me.

Apparently you decided that I was

no real bother. You went to sit on the

couch and I stiffened.

Close. You were too close.

If you noticed

you didn't care. You picked up the remote

and turned it to the news.

They talked about construction, about

the Wayne foundation donating money

to have a new wing added to the hospital

and how some roads would be closed for the

next four months until it was finished.

The mayor was also a hot-topic issue.

And you just grumbled at everything they said.

I wanted you to leave. I tried to make it

obvious. I sighed often and turned my back to you.

A challenge. You never turn your back on the

enemy. But you weren't the enemy, at least

not yet.

Apparently you weren't watching the news as closely as

I thought, or else I'd caught your attention,

because you spoke to me.

 _I, ahh, don't mean to bother you, but… I've gotta ask. What're you doing?_

Funny, your words were polite but your tone was

mocking. The answer must have been obvious. The

puzzle pieces were still littered all around me. I didn't want

to talk to you. My silence was enough to convey

that particular message. I clenched my teeth and

wondered just how stupid you

must be

to not realize that I was focusing

really hard on ignoring you

Instead of hurting you.

I mean, I didn't know you yet.

That would be rude.

You looked to the orderly as if he

would answer for me.

He didn't, of course. He stood there in his spot

near me, eyes forward, face blank.

Irritation flashed across your face. You

don't like to be ignored. Now, your interest

was peeked. Your forked tongue darted

along your scars.

A moment passed and you tapped your

fingers restlessly as you watched

me. I don't know if you were waiting on

me to say something, but it felt like you

were speaking for me,

carrying on a conversation in your head because

when you stood you humphed like I'd

said something interesting and approached

like I'd called you over. Stopped behind me.

The blocks of the Rubick's cube slid faster

under my fingers. Shift, shift, shift, click.

Shift, shift, shift, click. Shift, shift, shift,

Click.

You loomed over me. I could smell you.

Dirty hair and sweat and clean fresh

laundered clothes provided by the

Institution. And delousing powder.

Also provided by the Institution.

The smell of that crap makes my throat

burn and you were covered in it.

I held my breath and you leaned closer,

Peering over my shoulder down at

The card table. I could hear you,

hear your tongue brushing

over your scars.

I leaned away and suppressed

a grunt of disgust.

You reached around me, your

skinny fingers outstretched towards

the puzzle pieces.

It happened fast, like a lightening strike.

My hand,

wrapped around your wrist,

tight, coiled like a

python, and squeezing tighter

because you froze.

You weren't expecting that. People don't

touch you all that much. And like

a true lightening strike, it would take

astronomical odds for me to ever get

lucky enough to get the upper hand with

you again. Not that I knew that then.

We didn't move—didn't breathe.

I held onto your wrist and eyed

where your fingers almost touched

one of the puzzle pieces.

The Rubick's cube was still in my other hand.

The orderly was watching us now. Sounds of

the other inmates coughing and muttering

and laughing filled our silence.

My eyes were fixed on the card table.

Your heart was racing. I could tell

by your pulse.

"I'm not finished yet."

You growled as I unfurled my fingers,

and before I had completely let go you snatched

your hand back.

The rest of the room hushed.

I rarely bother to speak. I don't normally

need to. I think they were confused.

Coming around the side of the table,

Your eyes glittered dangerously

now as you watched me like you were

seeing a whole new person. You looked

at the card table, the scattered

puzzle and the Rubick's cube and

me.

 _How much longer?_

My fingers twitched. Tight jaw, I

glanced up at you. Nostrils flared.

Impatient man. My tolerance evaporated

like spilled water scorched cement.

The pressure in my head was

almost impossible ignore. It grew and grew,

and I smacked my head

with my free hand two times. Inhale,

exhale. Inhale,

exhale.

I returned to the puzzle.

A short time passed as you waited

on the response that wouldn't come,

and you watched me. You watched

me fit the puzzle pieces together with

the scenic picture of Mount

Rainier face down, and you

leaned forward like you were

watching the most intense car

chase on the news you'd

ever seen. Riveted. Transfixed.

Prying.

Humming lowly to yourself,

You rested your elbows on your

knees and settled in to watch me work.

You were hooked.


End file.
